Here by the shore, the flat area one level up the escarpment used to be farmed. While some still is, most has been left to grow up in trees. There are a few stands of older oak, ironwood, maple, and alder, but much is young regrowth--hawthorn, cedar, spruce, birch. People have planted pines, and some maple and ash trees are coming along. Sprinkled among them are wild apples. And these apples are ripening right now.
These trees were not planted by people. The seeds were spread by wild creatures. They are a surprise. Some of these apples are quite hard. Some are too tangy to enjoy, though they add flavour to apple jelly. Then we pick one that is just perfect. A gift.
Wild apples have taught me a great deal about gratitude and thankfulness.
First, the tasty apple is a surprise. I can’t count on a bright red apple being firm and tasty. I shouldn’t assume that a green apple will be too tart to eat. I don’t get a great apple every time I pick one. But there are times when I walk by a tree at the right time, and I am struck with wonder at the taste.
That sense of surprise and wonder are important because sometimes expressions of gratitude feel like statements of privilege. This first came home to me early in the pandemic as people on our road spoke of how fortunate we are to live where we do. We could easily walk outside and keep our distance. People living in apartment buildings had a hard time getting outside. People on city streets were too close to each other. Keeping physical distance was easier here. But we live here on the shore because someone had the resources to build a cottage or buy one of these houses. Our freedom is based on money, on privilege.
We can be grateful for the benefits we live with, but we need to remember where they come from. And we need to care about those who do not live with these benefits, to live in a way that is more just so that all can be grateful. Gratitude is a clue to our responsibilities.
Every Thanksgiving, I seem to be in some space where there is a moment of sharing what we are thankful for. As I listen to what is shared, it feels like a grocery list, not of the things we need but those we have already acquired. It feels like a list of “things that are mine.” The wild apple reminds me that what I find to be good is not “mine.”
Second, wild apples are shared. Even when picking for jelly making, I never take all the apples from any one tree. Deer need them in the winter. Bears need them in the fall. I am just one of the creatures fed from these trees. In this area, all the windfalls get eaten, which has the side benefit that the fruit are free of worms and rust.
In her book Braiding Sweetgrass, Robin Wall Kimmerer speaks of the indigenous tradition that people never take all of what they are harvesting, whether it is apples or mushrooms or sweet grass. This means you never take the first you see, because it might be the only one. She reminds us that we are not owed the produce of the land; we owe it to the next year and the next generation to make sure the produce continues.
In her tradition, you thank the tree for the apple by laying down tobacco. In our tradition, it feels like saying, “Thanks!” is enough sign of gratitude. A child is given a cookie, and once they say, “Thank you,” they own the cookie. Can we learn to offer in return something more than a word?
The third thing is that the apple nourishes. It offers vitamins the body needs. And I think real gratitude nourishes us. I came across a Mary Oliver quote that spoke to me: “a strengthening throb of amazement.” I think that real gratitude, real thanksgiving strengthens us. It does not make us feel complacent. It does not make us feel lucky. There is a sense of goodness that touches our inner spirit in a way that grounds us and directs us, gives us strength.
Cathy Hird lives on the traditional territory of the Saugeen Ojibway Nation
